W 


j?-V.; 


3*j 


FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


S2B 

/vv/s 


DMakm 

Section 


£^^  ys  &*&**- 


s& 


V 


«  OF 


SONGS  BY  TH^^Yi2 


A 


CHIEFLY  DEVOTIONAL ; 


WITH 


TRANSLATIONS     AND     IMITATIONS. 


BY    THE 


JJ 


REV.  GEORGE  W.  DOANE,  A.  M. 


■  Canlantes  licet  usque  (minus  via  ladet)  eamus." 

" Sometimes,  a  listless  hour  beguile, 

"  FramiDg  loose  numbers    . . . . " 


NEW-YORK: 

E.  BLISS  AND  E.  WHITE,    128     BROADWAY. 

Clayton  if  Fan  IVorden,  Printers. 


1824, 


Southern  District  of  New-York,  ss. 

BE  IT  KEMEMBERED,  That  on  the  fifteenth  day  of  June,  A.  D.  1824.  in  the 
forty-eighth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  Slates  of  America,  George 
W.  Doane,  A.  M.  ol  the  said  district,  hath  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a 
book,  the  right  whereof  he  claims  as  author,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit: 

"  Songs  by  the  Way,  chiefly  Devotional;  with  Translations  and  Imitations. 
By  the  Hev.  George  W.  Doane,  A.  M" 

1   Cantantes  licet  usque  (minus  via  latdet)  eamus." 
".....  Sometimes,  a  listless  hour  beguile, 

"  Framing  loose  numbers " 

In  conformity  to  ih^  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled,  "  An  act 
for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and 
books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  time  therein 
mentioned."  And  also  to  an  act,  entitled,  "  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act, 
entitled,  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  lenrni  g,  by  securing  the  copies  of 
maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  sucli  copies,  during 
the  times  therein  mentioned,  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of 
designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 
6       b  JAMES  DILL, 

Clerk  of  the  Souihern  District  of  New- York. 


TO    THE 
RIGHT  REVEREND 

JOHN  HENRY  HOBART,  D.D. 

BISHOP    OF    NEW-YORK  ; 
(NOW    TRAVELLING    IN    EUROPE^) 

THIS  LITTLE  VOLUME, 

NOT    AS    MERITING    HIS    REGARD. 

BUT    AS    THE 

IRRESISTIBLE    EXPRESSION 

OF    AFFECTIONATE    REMEMBRANCE    IN    ABSENCE, 

AND    OF 

FERVENT  PRAYERS 

FOR    HIS    RETURN     IN    HEALTH    AND    HAPPINESS, 

IS    MOSf  RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED, 

BY    HIS    OBEDIENT    SERVANT, 

AND 

SON    IN    THE    CHURCH, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


The  Courteous  Reader  is  respectfully  reminded, 
that  if.  in  the  volume  before  him.  but  little  has  been 
performed,  so  very  little  was  promised  in  the  Title- 
page,  that  his  reasonable  disappointment  cannot  be 
great. 

To  their  Author,  its  Contents  have  most  literally 
been,  "Songs  by  the  Way;"  "  loose  numbers," 
framed  in  the  intervals  of  an  arduous  avocation,  and 
of  severe  study. 

It  is  deemed  sufficient,  without  resorting  to  any  of 
those  ingenious  pleas,  which,  from  time  immemorial, 
have  brought  the  sins  of  unwilling  authors  upon  the 
heads  of  kind  and  importunate  friends,  simply  to 
state,  that  though  some  parts  of  the  volume  were 
written  several  years  ago,  and  all  of  it  at  periods 
more  or  less  remote  from  the  present  date,  no  idea 
of  its  publication  was  entertained,  until  within  a  very 
short  time  before  it  was  put  to  press. 
1* 


VI 


The  Author  has  now  only  to  express  his  hope  that 
his  Readers  may  derive  from  its  perusal  some  share 
of  that  solace  which  its  occasional  composition  has 
afforded  him,  and  that  they  may  feel  as  he  has  felt — 
and  especially  when  his  "  song  has  been  of  mercy 

and  judgment" 

"  Cantantes minus  via  laedet :" 

The  rugged  way  seems  smoother  while  we  sing* 


New-York,  June,  1824. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MORNING, 13 

Noon, 15 

Evening, 17 

Midnight, 19 

The  Voice  of  Rama, 21 

I  am  the  Way,  and  the  Truth,  and  the  Life,      .  23 

The  Waters  of  Marah, 25 

Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven, 27 

The  love  of  Christ, 29 

The  Sinner  called, 30 

O  !  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove, 32 

The  Faithful  Saying, 35 

Lord,  I  helieve:  help  thou  mine  unbelief,  .     .  37 

In  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of  judgment,  39 

The  Plague  of  Darkness, 41 

Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit, 43 


Vlll 

PAGE 

Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ? 44 

The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away,  ...  46 

The  Water  of  Life, 49 

Lines,  &c 51 

Life's  little  Lines, 55 

to  a  very  dear  friend, 58 

Rosemary, .     .  61 

Thermopyl^:, 63 

Fragment, 65 

The  memory  of  joys  that  are  past,      ....  67 

The  Heart's  Tribute  to  an  Absent  Friend,  69 

The  Mourn'd — the  Lov'd — the  Lost,     .     .  71 

On  a  very  old  Wedding  Ring, 73 

Remember'd  Joys, 76 

The  Faded  Flower, 78 

Sons  of  the  Greeks  ! 80 

"  Forget  me  not,"    ...     * 84 

That  silent  Moon, 85 

HYMNS  FROM  THE  LATIN. 

Morning  Hymn, 95 

Hymn  for  Noon, 97 


IX 

PAGE 

Evening  Hymn, 98 

Morning  Hymn, 99 

Hymn  for  the  Season  of  Lent,       .     .     .     .101 

Morning  Hymn, 103 

Evening  Hymn, 104 

Morning  Hymn, 105 

Hymn  for  Whitsunday, 107 

Morning  Hymn, 109 

Evening  Hymn, Ill 

Morning  Hymn, 113 

Evening  Hymn, 115 

For  the  Festival  of  the  Holy  Innocents,  .   117 

ODES,  SONNETS,  fee,  FROM  THE  GREEK, 
LATIN,  AND  ITALIAN. 

The  Wave  from  Ocean  sever'd,  [Metastasis.]  121 
Inscription  for  the  Tomb  of  a  little  Girl,  122 
The  Triumph  of  Judith,  [Metastasio.]  .  .124 
To  the  Peninsula  of  Sirmio,  [Catullus.]  .  .  127 
The  Hope  of  the  Wicked,  [Metastasio.]    .     .129 

To  Grosphus,  [Horace."] 131 

Sonnet,  [Tasso.] 134 

Love  and  Death,  [Alciatus.] 135 


X 

PAGE 


To  Delius,  [Horace.] 137 

Sonnet,  [Petrarch.']       ♦ 140 

The  pleasures  of  a  country  life,  [Horace.]   142 
Why  wish  for  life  ?  [Metastasio.]  .     .     .     .146 

Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton, 148 

To  Fuscus  Aristius,  [Horace.]       .     .     .     .159 

Sonnet,  [Petrarch.] 152 

To  the  Spring,  [Meleager.] 153 


SONGS  BY  THE  WAY, 

&c.  &c.  &c. 


MORNING. 

il  My  voice  shalt  Thou  hear  in  the  morning." 

To  Thee,  O  Lord,  with  dawning  light. 

My  thankful  voice  I'll  raise, 
Thy  mighty  pow'r  to  celebrate, 

Thy  holy  name  to  praise ; 

For  Thou,  in  helpless  hour  of  night, 

Hast  compass'd  all  my  bed, 
And  now,  refresh'd  with  peaceful  sleep, 

Thou  liftest  up  my  head. 

Grant  me,  my  God,  Thy  quick'ning  grace, 

Thro'  this,  and  ev'ry  day, 
That,  guided  and  supported  thus, 

My  feet  may  never  stray. 

2 


14 


Increase  my  faith,  increase  my  hope. 

Increase  my  zeal  and  love, 
And  fix  my  heart's  affections  all 

On  Christ,  and  things  above. 

And  when,  life's  labours  o'er,  I  sink 

To  slumber  in  the  grave, 
In  death's  dark  vale  be  Thou  my  trust, 

To  succour  and  to  save ; 

That  so,  through  Him  who  bled  and  died, 

And  rose  again  for  me, 
The  grave  and  gate  of  death  may  prove 

A  passage  home  to  Thee. 


NOOK. 

••  At  noon  will  I  pray." 

Father  of  lights,  from  Thee  descends 

Each  good  and  perfect  gift ; 
Then  hea**  us  while  our  thankful  hearts 

In  songs  of  praise  we  lift : 

We  praise  Thee.  Maker,  that  Thou  first 

Didst  form  us  from  the  clay. 
And  gav'st  us  souls  to  love  Thy  name, 

And  worship,  and  obey. 

We  praise  Thee,  that  the  souls  Thou  gav'st, 

Thou  still  in  life  dost  hold— 
Preserver,  noon  would  fade  to  night, 

Ere  half  Thy  love  were  told ! 


16 


We  praise  Thee,  Saviour,  that  thou  didst 
Our  souls  from  death  release, 

And,  with  Thine  own  atoning  blood, 
Procure  us  endless  peace. 

Maker,  Preserver,  Saviour,  God  ! 

What  varied  thanks  we  owe 
To  Thee,  howe'er  address'd,  from  whom 

Such  varied  blessings  flow. 

To  Thee,  who  on  a  darken' d  world 

Celestial  light  hast  pour'd, 
And  told  of  heav'n,  and  taught  the  way, 

In  Thy  most  holy  word. 

Wide  as  the  blaze  of  noon  is  spread, 
Spread  Thou  that  word  abroad : 

We  ask  it,  Saviour,  in  Thy  name ; 
Maker,  Preserver,  God  ! 


EVENING. 

u  Let  my  prayer  be as  the  evening  sacrifice." 

Softly  now  the  light  of  day 
Fades  upon  my  sight  away ; 
Free  from  care,  from  labour  free, 
Lord,  I  would  commune  with  Thee ! 
Thou,  whose  all-pervading  eye 

Nought  escapes,  without,  within, 
Pardon  each  infirmity, 

Open  fault,  and  secret  sin. 

Soon,  for  me,  the  light  of  day 
Shall  for  ever  pass  away ; 
Then,  from  sin  and  sorrow  free, 
Take  me,  Lord,  to  dwell  with  Thee ! 

2* 


18 


Thou  who,  sinless,  yet  hast  known 

All  of  man's  infirmity ; 
Then,  from  Thy  eternal  throne, 

Jesus,  look  with  pitying  eye. 


MIDNIGHT, 

"  God  my  Maker,  who  giveth  songs  in  the  night." 

At  midnight  hour,  O  Lord,  I  wake 

To  think  upon  Thy  name, 
To  call  to  mind  Thy  gracious  acts, 

And  all  Thy  praise  proclaim  ; 
And  though  no  friendly  ray  should  shine, 
Nor  single  eye  should  wake  but  mine, 
My  spirit  knows  no  startling  fear, 
Convinc'd  that  Thou,  my  God,  art  near. 

Thou,  in  my  time  of  deep  distress, 

Didst  aid  me  from  on  high, 
And  wip'd  the  starting  tear  away, 

And  still'd  the  bursting  sigh : 


20 


Life  cannot  throw  so  deep  a  gloom, 
There  is  no  darkness  in  the  tomb 
Can  e'er  disturb  my  breast  with  fear, 
For  Thou,  my  God,  wilt  still  be  near. 


THE   VOICE    OF    RAMA. 

"  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,   and  would  not  be 
comforted." 

Heard  ye  from  Rama's  rain'd  walls, 

That  voice  of  bitter  weeping ! — 
Is  it  the  moan  of  fetter' d  slave, 

His  watch  of  sorrow  keeping  ? 
Heard  ye  from  Rama's  wasted  plains, 

That  cry  of  lamentation ! — 
Is  it  the  wail  of  Israel's  sons, 

For  Salem's  devastation  ? 

Ah,  no — a  sorer  ill  than  chains 

That  bitter  wail  is  waking, 
And  deeper  wo  than  Salem's  fall 

That  tortur'd  heart  is  breaking : 


22 


'T  is  Rachel,  of  her  sons  bereft, 
Who  lifts  that  voice  of  weeping ; 

And  childless  are  the  eyes  that  there 
Their  watch  of  grief  are  keeping. 

Oh !  who  shall  tell  what  fearful  pangs 

That  mother's  heart  are  rending, 
As  o'er  her  infant's  little  grave, 

Her  wasted  form  is  bending ; 
From  many  an  eye  that  weeps  to-day, 

Delight  may  beam  to-morrow ; 
But  she — her  precious  babe  is  not ! 

And  what  remains  but  sorrow  ? 

Bereaved  One !  I  may  not  chide 

Thy  tears  and  bitter  sobbing — 
Weep  on !  't  will  cool  that  burning  brow, 

And  still  that  bosom's  throbbing : 
But  be  not  thine  such  grief  as  theirs 

To  whom  no  hope  is  given — 
Snatch'd  from  the  world,  its  sins  and  snares. 

Thy  infant  rests  in  Heaven. 


"  I  am  the  Way,  and  the  Truth,  and  the  Life." 

Thou  art  the  Way — to  Thee  alone 
From  Sin  and  Death  we  flee ; 

And  he  who  would  the  Father  seek, 
Must  seek  him,  Lord,  by  Thee. 

Thou  art  the  Truth — Thy  word  alone 

True  wisdom  can  impart ; 
Thou  only  canst  inform  the  mind, 

And  purify  the  heart. 

Thou  art  the  Life — the  rending  tomb 
Proclaims  Thy  conq'ring  arm, 

And  them  who  put  their  trust  in  Thee 
Nor  death  nor  hell  shall  harm. 


24 


Thou  art  the  Way,  the  Truth,  the  Life- 
Grant  us  that  Way  to  know, 

That  Truth  to  keep,  that  Life  to  win, 
Whose  joys  eternal  flow. 


THE    WATERS    OF    MARAH. 

"  And  Moses  cried  unto  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  showed 
him  a  tree,  which,  when  he  had  cast  into  the  waters,  the 
waters  were  made  sweet." 

By  Marah's  stream  of  bitterness, 

When  Moses  stood  and  cried, 
Jehovah  heard  his  fervent  pray'r, 

And  instant  help  supplied : 
The  Prophet  sought  the  precious  tree 

With  prompt,  obedient  feet ; 
'T  was  cast  into  the  fount,  and  made 

The  bitter  waters  sweet. 

Whene'er  affliction  o'er  thee  sheds 

Its  influence  malign, 
Then,  suff'rer,  be  the  Prophet's  pray'r, 

And  prompt  obedience,  thine : 
3 


26 


'T  is  but  a  Marah's  fount,  ordain'd 
Thy  faith  in  God  to  prove, 

And  pray'r  and  resignation  shall 
Its  bitterness  remove. 


u  Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven." 

:<  Our  Father" — such  Thy  gracious  name, 
Though  thron'd  above  the  starry  frame — 
Thy  holy  name  be  still  ador'd, 
Eternal  God,  and  sov'reign  Lord. 
Spread  far  and  wide  Thy  righteous  sway, 
Till  utmost  earth  Thy  laws  obey; 
And  as  in  Heaven,  before  Thy  throne, 
So  here,  Thy  will  by  all  be  done. 
This  day,  Great  Source  of  ev'ry  good, 
Feed  us  with  our  convenient  food. 
As  we  to  all  their  faults  forgive, 
So  bid  us  by  Thy  pardon  live. 
Let  not  our  feeble  footsteps  stray, 
SeducM  by  sin,  from  Thy  right  way; 
But,  sav'd  from  evil  work  and  word, 
Make  us  Thine  own,  Almighty  Lord  ! 


28 


For  Thine  the  sceptre  is,  and  throne, 
That  shall  be  crush' d  or  shaken,  never ; 

The  glory  Thine,  O  God,  alone, 

And  pow'r  that  shall  endure  for  ever. 


THE    LOVE    OF    CHRIST. 

"  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  r" 

Shall  tribulation's  deep  distress, 
Or  fear,  or  want,  or  nakedness, 
Or  cruel  foe,  or  conq'ring  sword, 
Divide  us  from  Thy  love,  O  Lord  ? 

No — vain  alike  were  death,  and  life, 
And  pow'rs  of  hell,  and  Satan's  strife, 
And  things  that  are,  and  things  to  be, 
To  separate  us,  Lord,  from  Thee ! 

So  shall  we,  Saviour,  through  Thy  love, 
In  all  things  more  than  conq'rors  prove ; 
Nor  grave  shall  hold,  nor  hell  shall  harm. 
The  ransom'd  of  Thy  holy  arm. 
3* 


THE    SINNER    CALLED. 

Return  and  come  to  God, 

Cast  all  your  sins  away, 
Seek  ye  the  Saviour's  cleansing  blood, 

Repent,  believe,  obey. 

Say  not  ye  cannot  come — 

For  Jesus  bled,  and  died, 
That  none  who  ask  in  humble  faith, 

Should  ever  be  denied. 

Say  not  ye  will  not  come — 
'Tis  God  vouchsafes  to  call, 

And  fearful  shall  their  end  be  found. 
On  whom  His  wrath  shall  fall. 


31 


Come,  then,  whoever  will, 
Come,  while  'tis  call'd  to-day, 

Flee  to  the  Saviour's  cleansing  blood, 
Repent,  believe,  obey. 


"And  I  said,  oh!  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove;  for  then 
would  I  flee  away  and  be  at  rest." 

Who  that  has  mingled  in  the  fray, 

Or  borne  the  storms  of  life, 
Has  not  desir'd  to  flee  away 

From  all  its  sin  and  strife — 
Has  not  desir'd  to  flee  away, 

Like  yonder  startled  dove, 
And  seek,  in  some  far  wilderness, 

A  nestling-place  of  love, 
Where  the  tumult,  if  heard,  should  excite  no  alarm, 
And  the  storm  and  the  tempest  sweep  by  withoutharm  ? 

Who  that  has  felt  the  rankling  wound 

Of  disappointment's  sting, 
Or  prov'd  the  worse  than  vanity 

Of  ev'ry  earthly  thing, 


33 


Has  not  desir'd,  like  yon  sweet  dove, 

To  wander  far  away, 
And  find  some  desert  lodging-place, 
And  there  for  ever  stay, 
Where  the  vain  show  of  earth  should  no  longer  delude, 
Where  the  fiend  disappointment  should  never  intrude  ? 

Who  that  has  felt  the  crumbling  touch 

Of  premature  decay, 
Or,  sorer  far,  has  mourn'd  o'er  friends 

Torn  from  his  heart  away, 
Has  not  desir'd,  like  yonder  dove, 

To  seek  some  lonely  nest, 
And,  far  from  earth's  vain  fellowship, 
To  dwell  and  be  at  rest, 
Till  the  summons  be  heard  that  shall  bid  him  depart, 
And  for  ever  rejoin  the  belov'd  of  his  heart  ? 

And  it  shall  be — that  summons  of  joy  shall  be  giv'n, 
To  the  converse  of  saints,  to  the  mansions  of  Heav'n, 
Where  the  cross  of  the  sufFrer  shall  no  more  be  borne. 
But  the  crown  of  the  conq'ror  for  ever  be  worn. 


34 


Thou  that  seek'st  this  glorious  prize. 

Ask  no  more  for  wings  of  dove ; 
Angel-pinion'd,  thou  shalt  rise 

To  the  realms  of  peace  and  love  : 

Realms,  where  Christ  has  gone  before, 
Blissful  mansions  to  prepare ; 

Realms,  where  they  who  serve  Him  here, 
Shall  His  pow'r  and  glory  share. 

There,  no  battle-fray  is  heard ; 
There,  no  tempest  need  be  fear'd ; 
Disappointment  cannot  sting ; 
Banish' d  thence  each  hurtful  thing; 
Sickness  comes  not  there,  nor  pain ; 
Death  hath  there  no  dark  domain : 
Gather'd  there,  no  foot  shall  rove 
Of  the  happy  friends  we  love ; 
Gather'd  there,  no  soul  shall  roam, 
'T  is  our  own — our  Father's  Home. 


THE    FAITHFUL    SAYING. 

"  This  is  a  faithful  saying,  and  worthy  of  all  acceptation, 
that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners." 

Yes — it  is  a  faithful  saying, 

Christ  the  Saviour  died  for  me : 

Haste,  my  soul,  without  delaying, 
To  His  great  atonement  flee. 

Shall  the  Lord  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Sojourning  with  sinful  men, 
Die,  that  they  may  be  forgiven, 

Yet  His  death  be  all  in  vain  ? 

No — by  ev'ry  drop  that's  streaming 

Down  from  that  accursed  tree, 
By  Thy  death,  my  soul  redeeming, 

Saviour,  I  will  come  to  Thee ! 


36 


Worldly  riches,  honours,  pleasures, 
Shall  no  more  my  soul  detain ; 

Dearer,  Thou,  than  all  the  treasures, 
Earth  can  give,  or  life  can  gain. 


u  Lord,  I  believe:  help  Thou  mine  unbelief!" 

Lord,  I  believe,  the  father  cried, 

Help  Thou  mine  unbelief — 
O !  if  Thou  canst,  have  mercy  now, 

And  give  my  child  relief ! 

The  father's  fervent  pray'r  was  heard, 

Fulfill'd  the  father's  joy ; 
The  Saviour  pitied,  spake,  and  heal'd 

His  poor  demoniac  boy. 

Sinner — this  Lord  is  still  the  same, 

Still  waiting  to  forgive : 
Seek,  thea,  His  cleansing,  saving  blood, 

Believe,  obey,  and  live. 
4 


38 


Suff'rer — it  is  thy  Father  smites, 
Thy  Father's  chastening  love : 

The  hand  that  gives,  will  heal  the  wound, 
In  fairer  realms  above. 

Christian — 't  is  there  thy  Saviour  reigns, 

Enthron'd  above  the  skies, 
And  thither,  freed  from  death's  dark  thrall, 

Thy  ransom' d  soul  shall  rise. 

Believer — press  undaunted  on, 

Nor  heed  earth's  dull  delay, 
While  angels  wait  to  welcome  thee 

To  realms  of  ceaseless  day. 

Sinner,  no  more,  nor  suff'rer,  then, 

Life's  painful  journey  o'er, 
Thine  is  the  Christian  heritage 

Of  joy  for  ever  more ; 

And  crowns  of  quenchless  glory  thine, 

Thy  constancy's  reward ; 
Believer — thine,  in  Heav'n  to  dwell 

For  ever  with  the  Lord. 


a  In  the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of  judgment." 

My  God,  when  nature's  frame  shall  sink, 
And  totter  on  destruction's  brink, 
Be  Thou  my  portion  and  my  cup, 
And  bear  my  fainting  spirit  up. 

'T  was  Thou  that  form'dst  me  first  from  clay, 
And  ledd'st  me  through  life's  devious  way ; 
Then  take,  O  God,  my  parting  breath, 
Support  me  in  the  hour  of  death. 

And  when  before  the  throne  I  stand, 
And  wait  Thy  judgment's  dread  command, 
Do  Thou  my  strong  supporter  be, 
And  save  the  soul  that  trusts  in  Thee. 


40 


Thou,  Saviour,  for  my  sins  hast  died, 
Thy  grace  alone  my  strength  supplied ; 
Then  cast  me  not,  O  Lord,  away, 
But  save  me  in  the  judgment  day. 


THE    PLAGUE    OF   DARKNESS. 

"  But  all  the  children  of  Israel  had  light  in  their 

dwellings." 

When  darkness  erst,  by  God's  command, 
Envelop'd  haughty  Egypt's  land, 
Throughout  that  long  and  fearful  night 
In  Israel's  dwellings  all  was  light. 

So,  to  the  righteous,  light  shall  rise, 
Though  clouds  and  tempests  wrap  the  skies, 
And  faith  triumphant  mock  the  gloom 
That  gathers  round  the  silent  tomb. 

Then  grant  us,  God,  while  here  we  rove, 
Thy  will  to  know,  Thy  ways  to  love, 
To  prove  the  riches  of  Thy  grace, 
And  share  the  brightness  of  Thy  face ; 

4* 


42 


Till,  guided  so  in  all  our  way, 
And  cheer'd  by  Thy  celestial  ray, 
We  reach  at  last  that  heav'nly  height, 
Where  ail  is  peace,  and  joy,  and  light. 


"  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit ;  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom 
of  Heaven." 

5T  is  the  promise  of  Christ — to  the  poor  shall  be  giv'n, 
And  humble,  and  contrite,  the  kingdom  of  Heav'n ; 
And  who  would  not  toil  through  this  pathway  of  pain, 
And  who  would  not  suffer,  such  promise  to  gain ! 

Bear  up,  then,  my  soul,  'mid  the  darkness  and  storm, 
Nor  shrink  from  the  strife,  though  terrific  its  form — 
There  is  One  that  shall  guide  thee,  and  guard  thee 

from  harm, 
Whose  eye  is  unerring,  unconquer'd  His  arm. 

To  the  contrite  and  faithful  the  promise  is  sure, 
And  salvation  is  pledg'd  to  the  souls  that  endure ; 
And  the  crown  and  the  sceptre  shall  be  their  reward, 
Who  have  manfully  stood  on  the  side  of  the  Lord, 


"  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  Thou  hast  the  words  of 
eternal  life." 

Lord,  should  we  leave  Thy  hallow'd  feet, 

To  whom  should  we  repair  ? 
Where  else  such  holy  comforts  meet 

As  spring  eternal  there  ? 

Earth  has  no  fount  of  true  delight, 

No  pure,  perennial  stream ; 
And  sorrow's  storm,  and  death's  long  night, 

Soon  wrap  life's  brightest  beam. 

Unmingled  joys  't  is  Thine  to  give, 

And  undecaying  peace ; 
For  Thou  canst  teach  us  so  to  live. 

That  life  shall  never  cease. 


45 


Thou  only  canst  the  cheering  words 

Of  endless  life  supply, 
Anointed  of  the  Lord  of  Lords, 

The  Son  of  God  most  high. 


"  The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away." 

In  careless  childhood's  sunny  hours 

When  all  we  love  is  nigh, 
No  thorn  amid  life's  op'ning  flow'rs, 

No  cloud  in  all  its  sky, 
We  fear  no  ill,  nor  dream  of  care, 

But  deem  each  following  day 
Shall  light  us  on  to  fairer  scenes, 

And  beam  with  brighter  ray. 

And  childhood's  vernal  season  past, 

And  shunn'd  youth's  thousand  snares, 
When  manhood's  autumn  comes  at  last, 

With  sorrows,  fears,  and  cares, 
Still,  autumn-like,  its  skies  are  bright. 

And  still  the  world  seems  young, 
And  still  we  love  its  mellow  light, 

Its  bow'rs  with  fruitage  hung. 


47 


But  autumn's  golden  skies  must  fade, 

And  autumn's  fruits  decay, 
And  soon,  'mid  snows  and  storms,  must  come 

Old  age's  wintry  day. 
A  wintry  day  at  best — as  short, 

As  gloomy,  and  as  cold, 
Till  the  worn  body  yields  at  last, 

And  life  lets  go  its  hold. 

And  when  its  earthly  hold  is  gone, 

The  world's  brief  fashion  past, 
Are  there  no  hopes  that  shall  survive — 

No  pleasures  that  shall  last  ? 
Yes,  Christian — it  is  thine  to  know 

Life  's  but  a  weary  way, 
A  short,  though  painful,  prilgrimage, 

To  realms  of  endless  day ; 

Where  Faith  her  crown  of  life  shall  wear, 

And  Hope  be  lost  in  joy, 
And  meek-eyed  Love  be  paid  with  bliss 

That  time  can  ne'er  destroy : 


48 


For  thither  has  the  Lamb  gone  up, 

Who  suffer'd,  and  was  slain, 
That,  ris'n  with  Him,  his  followers  might 

With  Him  for  ever  reign. 


THE    "WATER    OF    LIFE. 

"  Whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely." 

Ho !  all  that  thirst,  draw  nigh, 
And  drink  of  that  pure  fount 

Which  issues  forth  eternally 
From  Zion's  holy  mount. 

Haste  to  that  blessed  fold 

Which  Jesus  first  ordain'd, 
And  which  his  hand  and  holy  arm 

Have  ever  since  maintained. 

There  shall  the  sacred  fount 

Wash  all  your  sins  away, 
And  fit  you,  so  your  faith  be  firm, 

For  realms  of  endless  day. 
5 


50 


There  is  that  word  dispensed 

By  which  alone  we  live, 
Which  only  can  our  hopes  confirm, 

And  joys  eternal  give. 

There  is  that  feast  prepar'd 
For  those  in  Christ  who  live ; 

Rich  banquet !  where  the  contrite  heart 
True  comfort  shall  receive. 

Come,  then,  the  Spirit  cries, 
And  she,  the  heav'nly  Bride, 

Come,  all  that  are  athirst,  nor  fear 
That  one  shall  be  denied. 

Come,  whosoever  will, 

Nor  price,  nor  money  bring ; 

Come  to  that  fount  whose  streams  of  life 
Through  endless  ages  spring. 


LINES 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  VERY  BRILLIANT  SUN-SETTING, 

September  1,1820. 
"  The  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal." 

Oh  !  see  yon  glowing  Occident, 

With  crimson,  gold,  and  purple  blent, 

How  high  and  wide  the  pageant 's  spread, 

How  far  its  gorgeous  glories  shed : 

Not  all  that  the  earth  has  of  brightest  and  best, 

Can  vie  with  the  splendours  of  yonder  west. 

Oh !  could  we  but  mount  to  that  golden  clime, 
And  traverse  those  pathways  of  purple  light, 

To  the  perishing  things  of  earth  and  time, 
We  'd  bid  a  long  and  a  glad  "  Good  Night!" 


52 


There,  'mid  the  glow  of  parting  day, 

Through  amaranthine  fields  we  'd  stray, 

Drinking  in,  with  ravish'd  ears, 

The  ceaseless  music  of  the  spheres ; 

Gazing  on  glories  of  brighter  shine 

Than  the  richest  gems  of  Golconda's  mine  ; 

Resting  in  bow'rs  of  sweeter  perfume 

Than  the  "  gardens  of  Gul"  in  their  fairest  bloom. 

Fond  enthusiast !  see — it  fades 

Ev'n  upon  thy  ravish'd  sight, 
Lost  'mid  evening's  gather'd  shades, 

Dying  with  the  dying  light : 
Thus  ever  fades  earth's  loveliest, 
Thus  dies  the  brightest  and  the  best ! 

I  've  seen,  in  blooming  loveliness, 

The  youthful  maiden's  angel  form ; 
I  've  seen,  in  tow'ring  stateliness, 

The  hero,  breasting  battle's  storm ; — 
The  canker-worm  of  hopelessness 

Has  blighted  all  her  bloom ; 
War's  iron  bolt,  in  ruthlessness, 

Has  sped  him  to  the  tomb  : 


53 


Thus  ever  fades  earth's  loveliest, 
Thus  dies  the  brightest  and  the  best ! 

Then  count  not  maiden's  loveliness, 
Nor  hero's  tow' ring  stateliness, 

Mortal,  dare  be  wise : 
Let  not  thy  soul's  aspirings  rest 
On  gilded  east,  or  glowing  west, 

Look  beyond  the  skies ! 

There,  far  above  that  line  of  light, 
Which  bounds  thy  dim  and  shorten'd  sight, 
In  never  dying  lustre  shine 
The  splendours  of  the  world  divine : 
The  new  Jerusalem,  the  holy, 

Whose  foundations  are  of  gold, 
Garnish'd  with  the  radiant  glory 

Of  thousand  precious  stones  untold ; 
And  the  rainbow-circled  throne, 

On  its  fiery  axles  wheeling ; 
And  Jehovah's  own  Zion,  the  holy  mount ; 
And  the  water  of  life  in  its  crystal  fount ; 

And  the  tree  with  its  leaves  for  the  nations'  healing. 


54 


Such  as  these,  but  numberless, 
The  glories  of  that  heav'nly  place, 
Where  sorrow  is  never  known,  nor  night, 
For  God  and  the  Lamb  are  its  joy  and  light. 


LIFE'S    LITTLE    LINES. 

"  Noting,  ere  they  fade  away, 
The  little  lines  of  yesterday." 

Life's  "  little  lines"  how  short,  how  faint 

How  fast  they  fade  away ; 
Its  highest  hopes,  its  brightest  joys, 

Are  compass'd  in  a  day. 

Youth's  bright  and  mild  and  morning  light, 

Its  sunshine  and  its  show'rs, 
Its  hopes  and  fears,  its  loves  and  tears, 

Its  heedless,  happy  hours ; 
And  manhood's  high  and  brighten'd  noon, 

Its  honours,  dangers,  cares, 
The  parent's  pains,  the  parent's  joys, 

The  parent's  anxious  pray'rs, 


56 


Fade  in  old  age's  evening  gray, 

The  twilight  of  the  mind ; 
Then  sink  in  death's  long,  dreamless  night, 

And  leave  no  trace  behind. 

Yet,  though  so  changing  and  so  brief 

Our  life's  eventful  page, 
It  has  its  charms  for  ev'ry  grief, 

Its  joys  for  ev'ry  age. 

In  youth's,  in  manhood's  golden  hours, 

Loves,  friendships,  strew  the  way 
With  April's  earliest,  sweetest  flow'rs, 

And  all  the  bloom  of  May ; 
And  when  old  age,  with  wintry  hand, 

Has  frosted  o'er  the  head, 
Virtue's  fair  fruits  survive  the  blast, 

When  all  beside  are  fled ; 
And  faith,  with  pure,  unwav'ring  eye, 

Can  pierce  the  gather'd  gloom, 
And  smile  upon  the  spoiler's  rage, 

And  live  beyond  the  tomb. 


57 


Be  ours,  then,  virtue's  deathless  charm, 

And  faith's  untiring  flight ; 
Then  shall  we  rise,  from  death's  dark  sleep, 

To  worlds  of  cloudless  light. 


TO   A   VERY  DEAR   FRIEND. 

" Friendship,  I  owe  thee  much." 

Dark  to  the  soul,  and  desolate, 

Life's  sunniest  hours  would  be, 
And  cheerless  fortune's  best  estate, 

Fair  Friendship  !  but  for  thee. 
And  oh !  when  tempests  wrap  the  skies, 

How  comfortless  their  gloom, 
Did  not  thy  radiant  visions  rise 

Our  darkness  to  illume ! 

Friend  of  my  heart !  in  hours  of  joy, 

I  've  listen'd  to  thy  voice, 
And  felt,  in  each  inspiring  tone, 

New  motive  to  rejoice ; 


59 


And  oft,  with  anxious  cares  opprest, 
And  griefs  thou  didst  not  know, 

Thy  kindness  has  reliev'd  my  breast, 
And  lighten'd  ev'ry  wo. 

Oh !  I  have  lov'd  with  thee  to  rove, 

In  Spring's  reviving  hour, 
Ere  verdure  yet  had  clad  the  grove, 

Or  fragrance  fill'd  the  flow'r ; 
And  joy'd  when  Summer  found  us  laid 

Beneath  some  aged  oak, 
Where,  save  the  streamlet's  bubbling  tale, 

No  sound  the  stillness  broke. 

With  thee,  when  Autumn's  mellowing  hand 

Has  ting'd  the  woods  with  gold, 
How  dear  to  mark  each  varied  tint 

Successively  unfold ! 
And  ev'n  in  Winter's  sullen  hour, 

To  roam  delighted  on, 
And  feel,  that  not  in  Summer  bow'r, 

Is  nature  woo'd  alone. 


60 


Those  happy  hours,  those  happy  hours, 

Have  flitted  on  the  wind, 
But  many  a  dear  remembrance  lives, 

Deep  in  my  heart  entwin'd ; 
And  oft  the  chords  with  which  they  're  bound, 

Shall  fancy  wake  again ; 
And  mem'ry  love  to  linger  long 

Delighted  on  that  strain. 


ROSEMARY. 

"  There's  rosemary — that's  for  remembrance  !" 

It  is  not  the  brightest  and  sweetest  flow'r 

That  the  heart  of  affection  may  longest  cherish, 
For  when  the  winds  rise,  and  the  tempests  low'r, 

The  fairest  is  ever  the  first  to  perish : 
Oh  no — the  wither'd  and  wild-wood  leaf 

Is  as  dear  to  the  heart,  for  it  will  not  vary ; 
And  dear  ev'n  the  straw  from  the  oaten  sheaf, 

And  the  simplest  sprig  of  the  sad  rosemary. 

The  rosemary,  friendship's  strongest  charm, 
"  Seeming  and  savour  the  winter  long,"* 

*  So  Shakspeare's  Perdita,  in  the  Winter's  Tale ; 

"  Reverend  Sirs, 

For  you  there's  rosemary,  and  rue  ;  these  keep 
Seeming,  and  savour,  all  the  winter  long  : 
Grace  and  remembrance  be  to  you  both." 
6 


62 

Through  the  year's  chill  night  it  receives  no  harm, 
Nor  fades,  though  the  tempest  beat  loud  and  strong : 

And  so  will  the  heart,  with  affection  warm, 
In  joy  and  in  sorrow  be  ever  the  same, 

And  the  blink  of  the  sun,  and  the  dash  of  the  storm — 
What  are  they  all  to  its  changeless  flame ! 

They  say  that  the  rosemary  leaf  can  shed* 

On  the  mem'ry  that  's  fading,  a  magical  pow'r ; 
And,  sweetly  embalming  the  past  and  the  dead 

With  the  dew  of  remembrance,  their  life  restore : 
Oh !  thus,  when  the  light  of  affection's  smile 

Has  beacon'd  me  over  the  world's  rough  wave, 
May  the  dew  of  its  tears,  when  my  voyage  is  done, 

Freshen  the  green  of  my  turf-cover'd  grave. 

*  Rosemary  is  prescribed,  in  the  ancient  books  of  physic,  as 
a  strengthener  of  the  memory. 


THERIVXOPYLJE. 

"Sets  5T££<>  <XXg6'%ilf  fJtogQxs 

'T  was  an  hour  of  fearful  issues, 

When  the  bold  three  hundred  stood, 
For  their  love  of  holy  freedom, 
By  that  old  Thessalian  flood ; 
When,  lifting  high  each  sword  of  flame, 
They  called  on  ev'ry  sacred  name, 
And  swore,  beside  those  dashing  waves, 
They  never,  never  would  be  slaves ! 

And  oh !  that  oath  was  nobly  kept — 

From  morn  to  setting  sun, 
Did  desperation  urge  the  fight 

Which  valour  had  begun ; 


64 


Till,  torrent-like,  the  stream  of  blood 
Ran  down  and  mingled  with  the  flood, 
And  all,  from  mountain  cliff  to  wave, 
Was  Freedom's,  Valour's,  Glory's  grave* 

Oh,  yes,  that  oath  was  nobly  kept, 

Which  nobly  had  been  sworn, 
And  proudly  did  each  gallant  heart 

The  foeman's  fetters  spurn ; 
And  firmly  was  the  fight  maintain'd, 
And  amply  was  the  triumph  gain'd ; 
They  fought,  fair  Liberty,  for  thee : — 
They  fell — to  die  is  to  be  free. 


FRAGMENT. 

'T  was  night — and  winds  were  raving  round, 
With  stern  December's  surly  sound ; 
The  well-swept  hearth  was  burning  bright, 
And  shed  on  all  its  cheering  light ; 
The  doors  were  clos'd,  the  curtains  drawn, 
The  floor-cloth  smooth  as  verdant  lawn, 
And  all  was  joy,  and  sportive  mirth, 
Around  the  dear  domestic  hearth. 

Domestic  love !  what  holier  shrine, 
Save  one,  is  rear'd  on  earth,  than  thine — 
Where,  as  when  cluster' d  round  thy  feet, 
Does  heart  meet  heart  in  concord  sweet ! 
Star  of  our  souls !  where'er  we  roam, 
We  turn  to  thee,  delightful  home ! 
6* 


66 


'T  was  night — the  feather-footed  hours 

Had  fled,  as  if  they  "  stepp'd  on  flow'rs  ;n 

Had  noiseless  fled — yet  left  behind 

In  happy  hearts,  mementos  kind 

Of  hours  in  social  converse  spent, 

When  ev'ry  look  is  eloquent — 

Of  moments  pass'd  with  those  we  love, 

Priz'd  by  the  heart  long  years  above — 

Moments,  which  shall  for  ever  be 

Embalm'd  in  fondest  memory. 

The  jest,  the  laugh  had  circled  round, 

Mingled  with  music's  silver  sound ; 

That  wild  and  witching  melody 

Which  moves  at  once,  and  melts  the  soul. 
And  bids  from  out  the  unconscious  eye, 

The  involuntary  tear  drop  roll : 
Such  notes  as  oft,  at  midnight  hour, 

The  sad  enthusiast,  ravish'd,  hears ; 
Far  echo  of  some  angel's  song, 

Sweet  harmony  of  circling  spheres. 
Those  notes,  those  notes,  they  linger  yet, 
Oh !  who  that  heard  them  could  forget ! 
Speech  shall  be  lost,  and  thought,  as  soon 
As  that  sweet  voice,  and  "  Bonny  Doon." 


HOME. 

The  memory  of  joys  that  are  past — pleasant,  but  mournful 
to  the  soul." 

Home  of  my  careless  infancy, 

How  dear  each  well-remember'd  scene, 
Where  ev'ry  rock  and  ev'ry  tree, 

Is  eloquent  of  what  has  been. 

How  dear — yet  ah !  how  painful  too ; 

That  joy  how  near  to  grief  allied, 
When  thoughts  of  lov'd  ones,  now  no  more, 

Come  rushing  on  me  like  a  tide. 

Departed  joys  of  days  gone  by, 

As  slowly  on  your  visions  roll, 
My  heart  is  soften'd,  and  subdu'd, 

Ye  soothe  and  tranquillize  my  soul. 


68 


Like  music  wafted  on  the  gale, 

When  midnight  stillness  wraps  the  land, 
So  sweet  the  far-off  strains  ye  breathe — 

So  sad,  when  wak'd  by  mem'ry's  hand. 


tt 

u 


THE 


HEART'S       TBIBUTE 


TO 


AN  ABSENT  FRIEND. 

Wi'  melting  heart,  an'  brimfu'  eye, 
"  I'll  mind  you  still,  tho'  far  awa." 


When  friends  are  met,  and  beaming  mirth 

Is  thron'd  in  ev'ry  eye, 
Why  wanders  oft  the  absent  thought, 

And  starts  the  secret  sigh  ? 
'T  is  the  silent  tribute  of  heart  to  heart, 

Which  affection  loves  to  pay, 
And  't  is  wafted  off,  on  that  secret  sigh, 

To  the  friends  that  are  far  away. 


70 


And  why,  amid  its  wreathed  smiles, 

Turns  pale  that  cheek  with  fear  ? 
And  why,  heneath  that  joyous  brow, 

Lurks  oft  the  gushing  tear  ? 
'T  is  to  wet  the  graves  of  departed  joys, 

That  the  heart  that  big  tear  sends ; 
And  the  fear  that  pales  that  anxious  cheek, 

Is  the  fear  for  absent  friends. 

There  's  One — his  name's  in  all  our  hearts — 

For  whom,  where'er  he  be, 
Our  kindest  thoughts,  our  fondest  pray'rs, 

Are  wafted  o'er  the  sea : 
May  the  spirit  of  health  be  on  ev'ry  breeze, 

And  of  joy  in  ev'ry  ray, 
And  may  God,  in  mercy,  protect  the  friend 

Whom  we  love,  while  far  away ! 


THE    MOURN'D.m.THE    LOVD....THE    LOST- 

Why  on  the  vanish'd  look,  the  by-past  tone. 

Loves  the  fond  heart  devotedly  to  dwell  ? 
Why,  reckless  of  that  now  which  is  its  own. 

Of  hours  that  were  delights  it  still  to  tell? 

Why  for  her  pillag'd  nestling  mourns  the  dove. 

With  all  her  living  loves  still  all  unblest  ? 
Why  dotes  the  fond,  bereaved  mother  more 

On  her  dead  infant,  than  on  all  the  rest  ? 

Why  is  it,  that  around  the  lov'd  and  lost 

Her  most  enchanting  radiance  fancy  throws, 

While  all  the  past  is  rob'd  in  richer  green, 

And  fresher  fragrance  breathes  from  ev'ryrose? 


72 


Mysterious  Sympathy !  thy  secret  source, 

Thy  deep,  embosom'd  springs,  we  cannot  tell, 

Nor  scan  thy  subtle,  undetected  laws, 

Though  each  effect  we  feel  and  know  so  well. 

'T  is  thine  the  wither'd  flow'ret  most  to  prize, 
To  mourn  the  music  flown,  the  odour  shed, 

And,  in  the  hallow'd  tomb  of  buried  love, 

To  twine  life's  best  affections  round  the  dead. 


ON   A    VERY    OLD    WEDDING-RING. 

The  Device — Two  hearts  united. 
The  Motto — "  Dear  love  of  mine,  my  heart  is  thine." 

I  like  that  ring — that  ancient  ring, 
Of  massive  form,  and  virgin  gold, 

As  firm,  as  free  from  base  alloy, 
As  were  the  sterling  hearts  of  old. 

I  like  it — for  it  wafts  me  back, 
Far,  far  along  the  stream  of  time, 

To  other  men,  and  other  days, 

The  men  and  days  of  deeds  sublime. 

But  most  I  like  it,  as  it  tells 
The  tale  of  well-requited  love ; 

How  youthful  fondness  persever'd, 
And  youthful  faith  disdain'd  to  rove — 

7 


74 


How  warmly  he  his  suit  preferr'd, 

Though  she,  unpitying,  long  denied, 
Till,  soften'd  and  subdu'd,  at  last, 

He  won  his  "  fair  and  blooming  bride." — 
How,  till  the  appointed  day  arriv'd, 

They  blam'd  the  lazy-footed  hours — 
How  then,  the  white-rob'd  maiden  train, 

Strew'd  their  glad  way  with  freshest  flow'rs — 
And  how,  before  the  holy  man, 

They  stood,  in  all  their  youthful  pride, 
And  spoke  those  words,  and  vow'd  those  vows, 

Which  bind  the  husband  to  his  bride : 
All  this  it  tells  5— the  plighted  troth— 

The  gift  of  ev'ry  earthly  thing— 
The  hand  in  hand — the  heart  in  heart— 

For  this  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 

I  like  its  old  and  quaint  device ; 

"  Two  blended  hearts"— though  time  may  wear 
them, 
No  mortal  change,  no  mortal  chance, 

"  Till  death,"  shall  e'er  in  sunder  tear  them. 


75 


Year  after  year,  'neath  sun  and  storm, 

Their  hopes  in  heav'n,  their  trust  in  God, 
In  changeless,  heartfelt,  holy  love, 

These  two  the  world's  rough  pathways  trod. 
Age  might  impair  their  youthful  fires, 

Their  strength  might  fail,  'mid  life's  bleak  weather, 
Still,  hand  in  hand,  they  travell'd  on — 

Kind  souls !  they  slumber  now  together. 

I  like  its  simple  poesy  too : 

"  Mine  own  dear  love,  this  heart  is  thine !" 
Thine,  when  the  dark  storm  howls  along, 

As  when  the  cloudless  sunbeams  shine. 
;i  This  heart  is  thine,  mine  own  dear  love !" 

Thine,  and  thine  only,  and  for  ever ; 
Thine,  till  the  springs  of  life  shall  fail, 

Thine,  till  the  cords  of  life  shall  sever. 

Remnant  of  days  departed  long, 

Emblem  of  plighted  troth  unbroken, 
Pledge  of  devoted  faithfulness, 

Of  heartfelt,  holy  love,  the  token : 
What  varied  feelings  round  it  cling ! — 
For  these  I  like  that  ancient  ring. 


REMEMBERED    JOYS, 

"  Sweet  Mem'ry !  wafted  by  thy  gentle  gale, 
Oft  up  the  stream  of  life  I  turn  my  sail, 
To  view  the  faery  haunts  of  long-lost  hours, 
Blest  with  far  greener  shades,  far  fresher  flow'rs." 

Remember'd  joys,  remember'd  joys, 

With  what  a  soft  and  "  dying  fall" 
Ye  breathe  upon  the  bosom,  where 

"  Hope  comes  no  more,  that  comes  to  all ;" 
Recalling  pleasure's  wildest  strains, 

Divested  now  of  all  their  madness, 
And  grief's  subduing  melodies, 

With  scarce  a  single  tone  of  sadness. 

Remember'd  joys — to  those  who  keep 
Their  vigils  sad,  while  others  sleep ; 
To  eyes  unseen,  that  ceaseless  weep, 
And  watch  the  ling'ring  night  away, 


77 


How  dear  the  calm  delights  you  give ! 
Departed  lov'd  ones  seem  to  live, 
Departed  scenes  again  revive, 

Returns  again  youth's  golden  day ; 
And  slowly  as  the  visions  move 
Of  youthful  friendship,  early  love, 

Before  the  enthusiast's  charmed  eyes, 
His  swelling  heart  forgets  its  pain, 
He  breathes  his  childhood's  air  again, 
He  treads  once  more  his  native  plain, 

And  gleams  of  bright-hair'd  hope  again  before  him 
rise. 

Dim  twilight  of  remember'd  joys, 

I  would  not  give  one  gleam  of  thine, 
For  all  the  gaudy  world  can  yield, 

When  most  its  noontide  splendours  shine. 
Clouds  may  obscure  life's  brightest  days, 
And,  rainbow-like,  its  hopes  depart, 
But  oh !  the  joys  of  other  years, 
Enshrin'd  by  love,  embalm'd  with  tears, 
Till  mem'ry  leaves  her  latest  hold, 
Shall  live  unalter'd  in  my  heart. 
7* 


THE    FADED    FLOWER, 

The  flow'r  you  gave,  oh !  lady  fair, 

Pale  as  it  seems,  and  scentless,  now, 
Is  dearer  than  the  loveliest  rose 

That  blooms  on  summer's  gaudy  brow. 
The  loveliest  rose  but  blooms  awhile, 

And  wafts  its  precious  perfumes  round  ; 
The  gale  sweeps  by — it  charms  no  more — 

Its  scatter'd  leaflets  strew  the  ground. 

Not  so  the  little  flow'r  you  gave  ; 

Its  bloom  may  fade,  its  fragrance  flit, 
But  oh !  the  charm  affection  lends, 

And  mem'ry  loves,  will  linger  yet : 
Will  linger  yet — long  years  have  pass'd, 

The  storm  has  fall'n,  the  gale  swept  by : 
Still,  is  it  fragrant  to  my  heart — 

Still,  blooming  to  my  memory. 


79 


There  is  a  bloom  no  time  can  fade, 

There  is  a  fragrance  will  not  part ; 
It  lives  unchanging  in  the  breast, 

It  breathes  unfailing  in  the  heart. 
That  breast  unnumber'd  ills  may  wring, 

That  heart  may  bleed — perchance  be  broken 
In  all  alike,  it  still  shall  charm — 

That  faded  flow'r,  that  cherish' d  token. 


SONS    OF   THE   GREEKS! 

Atvn  tfaifos  ruv 'ExXrivuv. 

"  Sons  of  the  Greeks,  arise!" 

And  gird  your  armour  on, 
Your  bleeding  country's  rights  assert, 

Avenge  your  fathers'  wrong. 
Sons  of  the  helmed  brave 

Who  held  Thermopylae, 
Dare,  as  they  dar'd,  the  turban'd  slave, 

And  Greece  shall  yet  be  free. 

Shades  of  the  brave,  who  bled 

Along  Cithaeron's  steep, 
And  still,  round  glory's  hallow'd  bed, 

Your  watch  of  ages  keep  ; 
Say — shall  yon  tower-crown'd  hill 

No  more  be  Freedom's  home  ? 
Her  flag  no  more  in  triumph  float 

Amid  yon  ocean's  foam  ? 


81 


Yes !  soon  again  as  pure 

Ilissus'  wave  shall  flow, 
And  soon,  on  fam'd  Hymettus'  hills, 

As  fragrant  flow'rs  shall  blow  •, 
For  freedom's  sun  shall  rise 

On  Attica  once  more, 
And  wind  and  wave  shall  lash  and  lave 

The  free  Egean  shore. 

Shades  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Whose  ashes  still  repose 
Where  (Eta  rears  his  star-girt  head, 

Where  cold  Eurotas  flows, 
Inspire  each  patriot's  heart, 

To  dare,  as  you  have  dar'd, 
Till  nerv'd  be  every  manly  arm, 

And  ev'ry  falchion  bar'd. 

Light,  light  the  quenchless  flame 

In  ev'ry  warrior's  eye ; 
Rouse,  rouse  the  glorious  battle-cry, 

For  Greece— for  Victory ! 


82 


Nor  let  the  combat  cease, 
While  Moslem  shall  remain 

To  mar  fair  Freedom's  festal  rites. 
Her  heritage  to  stain. 

Hark !  't  is  the  trumpet's  clang, 

The  squadron's  tramp,  I  hear ; 
Clashes  the  bright  broadsword  again, 

And  ring  the  shield  and  spear : 
See !  't  is  the  plumed  helm, 

The  banner  streaming  wide ; 
The  Athenian  horsemen  mount  again.. 

And  Spartan,  side  by  side. 

'T  is  up — the  glorious  strife, 

By  field,  and  tow'r,  and  town ; 
And  palace,  mosque,  and  minaret, 

And  frowning  fort,  are  down : 
The  Ottoman  retreats, 

The  Crescent  veils  its  ray, 
And  holy  hands,  in  Stamboul's  streets, 

The  Cross  of  Christ  display. 


83 


"  Sons  of  the  Greeks  arise!" 

Rise  in  your  fathers'  might, 
With  sword  girt  on,  and  spear  in  rest, 

Wage  Freedom's  holy  fight : 
Swear — 't  was  the  fathers'  oath, 

And  well  befits  the  son — 
Swear,  free  to  live,  or  firm  to  die, 

"  By  those  in  Marathon!' 


"FORGET   ME   NOT!" 

Forget  thee! — how  could  I? — each  morn  would 
remind  me 
Of  days  which  thy  presence  has  hallow'd  and  blest, 
And  each  night,  in   its  visions  and  dreams,  would 
restore  thee, 
All  pureness  and  beauty,  mine  angel  of  rest. 

Forget  thee  ! — why  should  I  ? — since  with  thee  is 
blended 

Each  scene  of  delight  that  my  fancy  e'er  drew, 
And  the  hopes  that  on  thee  and  thy  love  have  attended, 

Were  those  of  my  life  I  most  wish'd  to  find  true. 

No,  trust  me,  that  fervent  and  fond  recollection, 
Those  hopes,  even  fonder,  can  never  depart, 

Till  the  holiest  fount  of  my  earthly  affection 

Shall  ebb,  with  the  warm  tide  of  life,  from  my 
heart. 


THAT   SILENT   MOON. 

That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon, 
Careering  now  through  cloudless  sky, 

Oh !  who  shall  tell  what  varied  scenes, 
Have  pass'd  beneath  her  placid  eye, 

Since  first,  to  light  this  wayward  earth, 

She  walk'd  in  tranquil  beauty  forth ! 

How  oft  has  guilt's  unhallow'd  hand, 
And  superstition's  senseless  rite, 

And  loud,  licentious  revelry, 

Profan'd  her  pure  and  holy  light : 

Small  sympathy  is  hers,  I  ween, 

With  sights  like  these,  that  Virgin  Queen ! 

But  dear  to  her,  in  summer  eve, 
By  rippling  wave,  or  tufted  grove, 

When  hand  in  hand  is  purely  clasp'd, 
And  heart  meets  heart  in  holy  love, 
8 


To  smile  in  quiet  loneliness, 

And  hear  each  whisper'd  vow,  and  bless. 

Dispers'd  along  the  world's  wide  way, 
When  friends  are  far,  and  fond  ones  rove, 

How  pow'rful  she,  to  wake  the  thought, 
And  start  the  tear  for  those  we  love, 

Who  watch  with  us  at  night's  pale  noon, 

And  gaze  upon  that  silent  moon. 

How  pow'rful,  too,  to  hearts  that  mourn, 
The  magic  of  that  moonlight  sky, 

To  bring  again  the  vanish'd  scenes — 
The  happy  eves  of  days  gone  by ; 

Again  to  bring,  'mid  bursting  tears, 

The  lov'd,  the  lost  of  other  years. 

And  oft  she  looks,  that  silent  moon, 
On  lonely  eyes  that  wake  to  weep, 

In  dungeon  dark,  or  sacred  cell, 

Or  couch,  whence  pain  has  banish'd  sleep 

Oh !  softly  beams  her  gentle  eye, 

On  those  who  mourn,  and  those  who  die ! 


87 


But  beam  on  whomsoe'er  she  will, 
And  fall  where'er  her  splendours  may, 

There's  pureness  in  her  chasten'd  light, 
There's  comfort  in  her  tranquil  ray : 

What  pow'r  is  hers  to  sooth  the  heart — 

What  pow'r,  the  trembling  tear  to  start ! 

The  dewy  morn  let  others  love, 

Or  bask  them  in  the  noon-tide  ray ; 

There's  not  an  hour  but  has  its  charm, 
From  dawning  light,  to  dying  day : — 

But  oh !  be  mine  a  fairer  boon — 

That  silent  moon,  that  silent  moon ! 


TRANSLATIONS,  IMITATIONS, 

&C.  &C.  &C. 


8* 


Of  the  little  pieces  which  follow,  some  will  be  found  as 
nearly  literal  in  their  rendering,  as  the  just  principles  of  trans- 
lation allow ;  while  others  are  intended  merely  as  free  imita- 
tions of  their  respective  originals.  A  very  few  of  these,  (and 
two  articles  from  the  former  portion  of  the  volume,)  have 
appeared  in  some  of  the  Journals  published  in  this  city — to 
the  Editors  of  which,  the  Author's  thanks  are  here  tendered, 
for  the  notice  which  they  have  taken  of  his  occasional  com- 
munications, as  well  as  his  apology  for  now  collecting  and 
republishing  them,  without  their  permission. 


HYMNS  FROM  THE  LATIN 


MORNING    HYMN. 

u  rpu  Trinitatis  Unitas." 

Three  in  One,  and  One  in  Three, 
Sovereign  of  the  Universe, 

Hear  our  morning  minstrelsy, 
Listen  to  our  thankful  verse. 

From  our  couches,  lo !  we  rise, 
Seeking,  'mid  the  darkness  still, 

Help  for  our  infirmities, 
Medicine  for  ev'ry  ill. 

If,  in  dreams,  by  Satan's  fraud, 
Thought  or  wish  hath  gone  astray, 

Let  Thy  glorious  pow'r,  O  Lord, 
Wash  the  secret  sin  away. 


96 


Keep  our  bodies  free  from  stain, 
Keep  our  hearts  from  coldness  free, 

Let  no  taint  of  vice  inflame 
Our  spirits  dedicate  to  Thee. 

Thus,  Redeemer,  while  we  pray, 
Fill  us  with  Thy  heavenly  light, 

Then,  throughout  each  circling  day, 
Thoughts  and  ,deeds  shall  all  be  right. 

Aid  us,  Father,  we  intreat; 

Aid  us,  Thou,  eternal  Son; 
Aid  us,  Spirit,  Paraclete — * 

One  in  Three,  and  Three  in  One : 
Thou,  in  our  behalf  engage, 
Thou,  that  reign'st  from  age  to  age! 


*  Comforter. 


HYMN    FOR    NOON. 

"  Rector  potens,  verax  Deus." 

God  of  truth,  Almighty  King, 
Lord  of  each  created  thing, 
Thou  that  light'st  the  dawning  day, 
And  kindlest  high  the  noontide  ray  ; 

Quench  in  us  each  flame  of  strife. 
Banish  ev'ry  ill  of  life, 
To  each  body  health  impart, 
Shed  thy  peace  on  ev'ry  heart. 

Grant  it  now,  O  Holy  One; 
Grant  it,  Thou,  eternal  Son  ; 
Grant  it,  Spirit,  we  implore — 
Thou  that  reignest  evermore. 
9 


EVENING    HYMN. 

"  Jam  sol  recedit  igneus." 

Now,  as  sinks  the  blazing  sun, 
Thou,  eternal  Three  in  One, 
Fountain  of  unclouded  day, 
Fill  us  with  Thy  purer  ray. 

Thee  we  praise  at  morning's  dawn, 
Thee  implore  when  eve  comes  on ; 
Grant  us,  suppliant  here,  to  raise, 
In  Heaven,  unmingled  songs  of  praise. 

Thus,  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 

And  the  Spirit,  Three  in  One, 

As  of  old,  shall  ever  be 

Prais'd  and  worshipp'd,  One  in  Three. 


MORNING    HYMN. 

"  Rex  sempiterne  coelitum." 

Maker  of  all  in  Heav'n  and  earth, 

Lord  of  the  hosts  on  high, 
Thou  Son,  who  with  the  Father  art 

From  all  eternity, 
5T  was  Thou,  who,  when  the  world  was  new, 

Creating  man  of  earth, 
Didst  give  him,  in  Thine  image  made, 

A  soul  of  heav'nly  birth. 

And  when,  by  spite  and  fraud  of  hell, 

That  image  was  decay'd, 
Veil'd  in  the  flesh,  't  was  Thou  restor'dst 

The  soul  Thyself  hadst  made. 


100 

Great  Shepherd,  who  Thy  flock  dost  wash 

In  Baptism's  sacred  wave, 
Be  this  the  pool  to  cleanse  our  souls, 

Of  all  our  sins  the  grave ; 
That,  buried  there  with  Thee,  we  may 

With  Thee  our  life  resume, 
Who,  of  a  Virgin  born,  wast  made 

The  first  fruits  of  the  tomb. 

Redeemer,  Thou  who  to  the  cross 

Due  to  our  sins  wast  led, 
And  there,  salvation's  countless  price. 

Thy  precious  blood  didst  shed, 
Do  Thou  our  souls,  renew'd  to  life, 

From  sin  and  death  set  free, 
That  thus  Thy  endless  joy,  O  Lord, 

Our  heritage  may  be. 

Then  to  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 
Who  rose  and  reigns  in  Heav'n, 

And  to  the  blessed  Comforter, 
Shall  ceaseless  praise  be  giv'n. 


HYMN, 


FOR  THE  SEASON  OP  LENT. 
"  Audi,  benigne  Conditor." 

Father  of  Mercies,  hear ! 

Thy  pardon  we  implore, 
While  daily  through  this  sacred  fast, 

Our  prayers,  our  tears  we  pour. 

Searcher  of  hearts !  to  Thee 
Our  helplessness  is  known ; 

Be  then  to  those  who  seek  Thy  face, 
Thy  free  forgiveness  shown. 

Our  sins  have  num'rous  heen, 
We  own  it,  Lord,  with  shame  ; 

Yet  spare  and  heal  the  broken  heart- 
Spare  for  Thy  glorious  name. 


102 

Grant  us,  the  body  so 

By  fasting  to  restrain, 
That  sinful  thoughts  and  vain  desires 

Our  souls  no  more  may  stain. 

Thus,  to  Thy  contrite  ones 
Thy  mercy  shall  be  shown  5 

We  ask  it,  blessed  One  in  Three. 
We  ask  it,  Three  in  One. 


MORNING    HYMN. 

"  Ecce  jam  noctis  tenuatur  umbra." 

The  shades  of  night  are  flitting  fast, 
The  golden  east  is  streak' d  with  day, 

And  now,  O  Lord  of  life  and  light, 
With  thankful  hearts  to  Thee  we  pray. 

Sinners  we  are,  yet  hear  us,  Lord 
In  pity  hear,  and  send  us  peace ; 

Thy  saving  health  to  all  afford, 

And  bid  each  sin  and  sorrow  cease. 

Grant  it  eternal  Trinity, 

The  Father,  Son,  and  Spirit  bless'd, 
Whose  glory  is,  and  still  shall  be, 

Through  all  the  world,  with  joy  confess'd. 


EVENING    HYMN. 

"  Te  lucis  ante  terminum." 

Creator  of  the  world, 

As  now  the  day  departs, 
We  ask  it  for  Thy  mercy's  sake, 

Guide  Thou,  and  guard  our  hearts. 

Let  no  foul  forms  of  night, 
In  dreams,  our  souls  beguile, 

Nor  suffer,  Lord,  our  mortal  foe 
Thy  temples  to  defile. 

O  Holiest  !  grant  it  now, 

And  Thou,  co-equal  Son, 
And  Thou,  O  Spirit  Paraclete — 

Eternal  Three  in  One. 


MORNING    HYMN. 

"  Jam  lucis  orto  sidere." 

With  dawning  light,  O  Lord,  to  Thee 

On  bended  knee  we  pray, 
That  Thou  from  ev'ry  hurtful  thing 

Wouldst  keep  us  through  this  day. 
Guard  Thou  from  guile  our  froward  tongue, 

Lest  sinful  strife  arise ; 
Guide  Thou  our  feeble,  erring  sight, 

Lest  vanity  entice. 

Cleanse,  Lord,  our  hearts  from  ev'ry  sin, 

Free  them  from  folly  too, 
And  let  continual  temperance 

Each  carnal  lust  subdue : 
That  so,  when  days  shall  dawn  no  more, 

Nor  nights  their  shadows  fling, 
Free  from  the  world,  and  all  its  stains, 

Thy  praises  we  may  sing. 


106 

For  Thou,  O  God  !  and  Thou  alone, 

Art  worthily  ador'd, 
Who,  with  the  Son,  and  Spirit,  art 

But  one  almighty  Lord  : 
To  Him,  therefore,  he  glory  giv'n, 

Whom  virgin  mother  hore, 
With  Father,  and  with  Holy  Ghost, 

Both  now  and  evermore. 


HYMN    FOR    WHITSUNDAY. 

"  Veni,  Creator  Spiritus." 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  Creator,  come, 
And  make  these  souls  of  ours  thy  home ; 
Come,  fill  our  hearts  with  grace  divine, 
Thou  mad'st  them — own  them  still  as  thine 
To  Thee,  our  Comforter,  we  cry, 
The  gracious  gift  of  God  most  High  : 
Thine  is  the  unction  from  above, 
The  living  fount,  and  fire  of  love  ; 
Sevenfold  thy  sacred  blessings  are, 
God's  promises  thou  dost  declare, 
Hand  of  the  Father,  stretch'd  to  give 
That  blessed  word  by  which  we  live. 

Oh  kindle,  Thou,  each  sluggish  sense, 
Thy  love  in  all  our  hearts  dispense, 


108 

Strong  in  Thy  strength,  grant  us  to  bear 
Those  ills  to  which  our  flesh  is  heir. 
Drive  far  away  each  spiteful  foe, 
And  give  us  peace  while  here  below, 
That,  led  by  Thee,  O  Holy  One, 
Our  feet  each  sinful  snare  may  shun. 

Grant  us  the  Father  now  to  know, 

And  Son  eternal  to  confess, 
And  Thee,  who  from  Them  both  dost  flow, 

Through  ev'ry  circling  year  to  bless  ; 
That  so,  to  Him  who  spoil'd  the  grave, 

And  rose  triumphant  up  to  Heav'n, 
With  Father,  and  with  Holy  Ghost, 

Eternal  glory  may  be  giv'n. 


MORNING    HYMN. 
"  Consors  Paterni  luminis." 

Brightness  of  the  Father's  glory, 
Light  of  Light,  unclouded  day, 

Lo !  we  rise  to  sing  thy  praises ; 
Hear  us,  help  us,  while  we  pray. 

Lighten  Thou  our  mental  darkness, 
Bid  each  hellish  tempter  flee, 

Rouse  our  dulness,  lest  it  deaden 
Our  devotions,  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Saviour,  deign  to  each  believer 
These,  Thy  favours,  to  extend; 

Answer'd  thus,  our  pray'rs  and  praises 
Shall  for  evermore  ascend. 
10 


110 


Hear  us,  Father,  we  intreat  Thee, 
Hear  us,  Saviour,  we  implore, 

Hear  and  help  us,  Holy  Spirit — 
Thou  that  reignest  evermore. 


EVENING    HYUN. 
"  Verbum  supernum  prodiens." 

Eternal  Word,  who  dost  proceed 

From  out  the  bosom  of  our  God, 
And  cam'st,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 

To  shield  us  from  th'  avenging  rod, 
O  lighten  Thou  our  darken'd  hearts, 

Inflame  us  with  celestial  love, 
And,  as  life's  empty  show  departs, 

Fill  us  with  comforts  from  above. 

Then,  when  th'  uplifted  judgment  seat 
The  sinner's  sentence  shall  display, 

And  voices,  as  of  angels,  sweet, 

Welcome  the  saints  to  realms  of  day, 


112 

For  us,  no  quenchless  flames  shall  rage. 

No  fiery  storms  our  rest  destroy ; 
Thy  favour,  Lordx  our  heritage, 

Thy  presence  our  exceeding  joy. 

And  now,  to  Father,  and  to  Son, 
And  Spirit,  Paraclete,  to  Thee — 

The  One  in  Three,  the  Three  in  One, 
Be  praise  throughout  eternity. 


MORNING    HYMN. 
"  Veni  Creator  Spiritus." 

Creator,  Spirit,  come, 
Visit  these  souls  of  Thine, 

And  fill  the  hearts,  Thyself  hast  made, 
With  influence  divine. 

Thou  Comforter  art  call'd, 

The  gift  of  God  above ; 
The  spiritual  unction  Thine, 

The  fount  and  fire  of  love. 

Send  down  Thy  holy  fire, 
Pour  out  Thy  heav'nly  love, 

And  bear  us  in  our  frailty  up, 
With  succours  from  above, 
10* 


114 


Drive  far  away  each  foe, 
And  give  us  peace  at  home ; 

Be  Thou  our  guardian  and  our  guide, 
And  ills  shall  never  come. 


EVENING    HYMN. 

"  Creator  alme  siderum." 

Creator  of  the  starry  frame, 

Light  of  the  souls  who  trust  in  Thee, 

Jesus,  Redeemer  of  mankind, 

To  Thee  we  call,  on  bended  knee. 

Thou,  when  the  tempter's  arts  prevail'd, 
Didst  hasten  down  on  wings  of  love, 

To  shield  and  save  a  ruin'd  world, 

With  health  and  peace  from  heav'n  above. 

And  Thou,  unspotted  paschal  Lamb, 

The  blessed  virgin's  holy  son, 
To  wash  our  souls  from  stain  of  sin, 

On  shameful  cross  didst  bleed  and  groan. 


116 

Exalted  now,  Thy  glorious  pow'r 
Extends  through  all  immensity, 

And  saints  in  heav'n,  and  fiends  in  hell, 
Bow  at  Thy  name  with  trembling  knee. 

To  Thee,  then,  Judge  of  all,  we  look ; 

Grant  us  Thy  heav'nly  help,  we  pray : 
Guide  us  in  life,  and  guard  in  death, 

And  shield  us  in  the  judgment  day. 

For  Thine  the  glory  is,  and  pow'r, 

Eternal  Sire,  eternal  Son  ; 
Eternal  Spirit,  thine  the  praise — 

The  One  in  Three,  the  Three  in  One. 


FOR 


THE  FESTIVAL 


OP 


THE    HOLY    INNOCENTS. 

"  Salvete  flores  Martyrum." 

The  jealous  tyrant  hears 

That  He,  the  Prince,  has  come, 

Who  wide  o'er  Israel's  tribe  shall  rule, 
From  David's  royal  home. 

Infuriate  then,  he  cries, 

"  He  's  come,  who  claims  my  throne. 
"  Go,  soldiers,  grasp  the  glitt'ring  steel, 
"  Instant  with  blood  each  cradle  fill, 

"Slay  ev'ry new-born  son." 

Vain  was  murd'rous  Herod's  word — 
Vain  was  soldier's  dripping  sword ; 


J* 


THE    WAVE    FROM    OCEAN    SEVERED. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIO. 

"  L'onda  daPmar  divisa." 

The  wave  from  ocean  sever'd 

Bathes  the  valley,  laves  the  mountain, 

Floats  down  the  stream,  a  homeless  rover, 
Or  rests  imprison'd  in  the  fountain ; 

But  wheresoe?er  it  roams  or  rests, 
In  changeless  constancy,  it  mourns. 

And  murmurs,  comfortless,  till  back 
To  its  own  ocean-bed  it  turns. 
Its  ocean-bed, 
The  fountain  head 

Whence  first  it  flow'd,  forgotten  never ; 
And  where,  its  weary  wand'rings  o'er, 
Beneath  its  own,  its  native  shore, 

It  hopes  to  rest,  and  rest  for  ever. 
11 


INSCRIPTION 

FOR  THE  TOMB  OF  A  LITTLE  GIRL,  EIGHT  YEARS   OLD. 

No — I  will  not  deem  thee  dead,  my  love,  but  parted 
far  away, 

Through  fairer  scenes  than  earth  can  yield,  for  ever- 
more to  stray ; 

To  dwell  where  ceaseless  pleasures  reign,  in  unde- 
caying  rest, 

Amid  the  quiet  shades  of  some  far  island  of  the  blest. 

And  there,    I  ween,  thy  little  feet,   from  ev'ry  ill 

remov'd, 
In  frolic  mirth  now  wander,  as  in  infancy  they  lov'd ; 
And  still  thy  little  heart  exults  amid  Elysian  bow'rs, 
And  still  thy  little  fingers  pluck  the  sweetest,  fairest 

flow'rs. 


123 


Oh !  winter  comes  not  there,  to  chill,  with  short  and 

cheerless  day ; 
Nor  summer  suns  are  there,  to  scorch,  with  fierce  and 

sultry  ray  •, 
Nor  hunger  there,  nor  thirst,  is  known,  to  mar  thine 

hours  of  ease ; 
Nor,  raging  in  his  thousand  shapes,  the  tyrant,  fell 

Disease. 

And  shall  I,  though  thou  'rt  torn  from  me,  my  precious 
one,  repine  ? 

Alas !  how  poor  life's  best  estate  appears,  compar'd 
with  thine — 

With  thine,  who,  far  remov'd  from  all  that  dims  its 
darken'd  way, 

Dwellest  amid  the  splendours  pure  of  heav'n's  un- 
clouded ray. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   JUDITH. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIO. 

"  Lodi  al  gran  Dio." 

CHORUS  OF  BETHULIANS. 

Praise  to  Him,  the  mighty  God, 
Who  smites,  with  His  avenging  rod, 

The  heathen  boasting  impiously ; 
Who  guards  Bethulia's  coasts  from  harm, 
And,  with  His  high  and  holy  arm, 

Combats  for  Israel  gloriously. 

JUDITH. 

The  Assyrian  came  down  from  his  high  mountain  hold, 

And  the  spearmen  of  Persia  were  there  in  their  pride ; 

On  the  hill-tops  a  moment  exulting  they  hover'd, 

The  plains  with  the  march  of  their  squadrons  were 

cover'd, 

And  rivers  before  them  were  chok'd  up  and  dried. 


125 

Cloudlike  were  banners  so  unfurl'd, 
And  such  the  storm  of  weapons  hurl'd, 
It  seem'd  that  from  the  face  of  day 
The  sun  in  wrath  had  pass'd  away, — 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  day  of  doom 
To  Israel's  frighted  hosts  had  come. 

CHORUS. 

Praise  to  Him,  the  mighty  God,  &c 

JUDITH. 

"  Galling  chains,  devouring  flame," 

Such  the  impious  foeman's  boast, 
u  Death,  and  slavery,  and  shame, 

"  Shall  desolate  Bethulia's  coast. 
•;  Happy  he,  the  warrior  youth, 

"  That  dies  upon  the  field  of  glory — 
il  Who  the  captive's  tale  shall  tell  ? 

"  Who  the  hapless  virgin's  story  ?" 
Thus  went  the  Assyrian  war-cry  round, 
And  Israel  trembled  at  the  sound. 

The  circuit  of  one  little  hour 
Blasted  all  their  pomp  and  powY 
11* 


126 

And  left,  like  clouds  before  the  wind. 
No  vestige  of  their  host  behind. 

CHORUS. 

Praise  to  Him,  the  mighty  God,  &c. 

JUDITH. 

Vanquish'd,  routed — see !  they  fly ; 
Hush'd  is  now  their  battle  cry: 
The  proud  Assyrian,  pale  with  dread, 
Medes  and  Persians,  all  are  fled. 
Not  before  some  Titan  host, 
Nor  giants,  Anak's  earth-born  boast — 
'Twas  not  the  din  of  warriors'  arms 
Fill'd  their  camp  with  wild  alarms  : 
But  a  weak  and  lonely  woman — 

Such  the  Lord  Jehovah's  might! 
From  a  single  Jewish  woman 

Holofernes'  host  took  flight. 

CHORUS. 

Praise  to  Him,  the  mighty  God, 
Who  smote  the  heathen  with  his  rod ; 
Who  fought  for  Israel  gloriously, 
And  set  Bethulia's  borders  free. 


TO    THE    PENINSULA    OF    SXRMXO. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  CATULLUS. 

"Peninsularum,  Sirraio,  insularumque." 

Fairest  of  all  peninsulas, 

Eyelet*  of  islands,  Sirmio  ! 
Of  all  the  wide  wave  bathes,  the  best, 

Where'er  its  varied  waters  flow : 
So  glad,  so  joyful  my  return, 

So  fondly  I  revisit  thee, 
I  scarce  can  feel  that  Thynia  left, 
That  from  Bithynia's  valleys  reft, 

Thee  once  again  I  safely  see. 

Oh !  feels  the  heart  a  happier  hour, 
Than  when,  its  ev'ry  sorrow  fled, 

*  Ocelle — little  eye ;  a  term  of  endearment.     So  Cicero, 
u  villulae  meae,  ocelli  Italiae." 


128 


Thrown  now  aside  its  painful  load, 
Accomplish'd  now  its  weary  road, 
Reach' d  now  the  land  that  gave  it  birth, 
Its  native  home,  its  holy  hearth, 

It  rests  upon  its  own,  its  long,  long  wish'd-for 
bed? 
Oh !  this,  for  toilsome  road  and  rough, 
And  labour  hard,  is  meed  enough. 

Hail,  then,  lovely  Sirmio  ! 

Smile  once  more  upon  your  lord  ; 
Lydian  waves  that  round  me  flow, 

Your  murm'ring  welcome  now  afford  : 
Ev'ry  smile  you  have,  my  home ! 
Sport  it  now — the  wand'rer's  come. 


THE   HOPS    OF    THE    WICKED. 

PROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIO. 

"  La  Speme  di  malvagi." 

The  hope  of  the  wicked — 
A  moment  shall  blast  it, 
When  the  breath  of  Jehovah 
In  wrath  hath  o'erpass'd  it. 
Like  smoke,  which  the  winds  in  their  fury  are  lashing, 
Or  foam  on  the  ocean  when  tempests  are  dashing, 
It  was — it  is  not — all  its  glories  are  o'er, 
And  the  places  which  knew  it,  shall  know  it  no  more. 

But  the  hope  of  the  just 

Is  establish'd  for  ever, 
For  God  is  their  trust, 

And  that  trust  shall  fail — never. 


130 


The  heav'ns  at  the  voice  of  His  thunder  may  shake. 
And  earth  at  the  flash  of  His  lightnings  may  quake, 
But  their  hope  and  their  trust 

Shall  be  ever  the  same, 
Unfailing,  unchanging — 
Jehovah,  His  name. 


TO    GROSPHUS. 
FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE* 
"  Otium  divos  rogat  in  patenti." 

When  tempests  turn  the  day  to  night, 
And  clouds  obscure  pale  Luna's  light. 
The  sailor,  "mid  Egean  seas, 
No  star  to  guide  him,  prays  for  ease. 
For  ease  the  warring  Thracian  prays, 
And  Media's  quiver-bearing  race — 
Ease  that  no  gems,  nor  gold  can  buy, 
Nor  robes,  my  friend,  of  Tyrian  die. 
For  not  the  hoarded  wealth  of  kings, 
Nor  state,  that  titled  office  brings, 
Can  drive  those  carking  cares  aloof, 

Those  vultures  of  the  mind, 

That  riot  unconfin'd, 
And  flit  unscar'd,  untam'd,  around  the  vaulted  roof. 


132 

How  happy  he,  though  small  his  hoard, 
Whose  plate  ancestral  decks  his  board, 
Whose  tranquil  sleep  no  fears  molest, 
Nor  lawless  love  deprives  of  rest ! 

Rash,  short-liv'd  beings  that  we  are, 
Why  cast  we  still  our  schemes  afar  ? 
Why  haste,  from  clime  to  clime,  to  range  ? 
Himself,  did  exile  ever  change  ? 
No — care  will  climb  the  brazen  poop — 
Care  still  pursues  the  mounted  troop — 
Care,  that  is  swifter  than  young  hind, 
Or  clouds  that  scud  before  the  wind. 

Blest  then  to-day,  seek  not  to  borrow 
One  anxious  moment  from  the  morrow, 
But  sooth  each  grief  with  gentle  mirth — 
Unmingled  bliss  dwells  not  on  earth. 

Each  has  his  lot.     Achilles  died, 
'Mid  all  his  fame,  in  manhood's  pride, 
While  old  Tithonus  pin'd  away, 
Year  after  year,  in  dull  decay. 


133 


And  I,  though  poor,  perhaps  may  see 
Long  years,  denied  to  wealth  and  thee : 
Thee,  purple  rob'd,  whose  heifers  low, 
Whose  well-train'd  steeds  delighted  neigh, 
Whose  countless  flocks  securely  stray, 
Where'er  Sicilian  waters  flow : 
While,  for  my  share,  (so  fate  ordains,) 
This  little  farm  alone  remains — 
Enough  !  since  with  it,  I  inherit 
Some  sparklings  of  the  Grecian  spirit; 
A  mind  not  always  slighted  by  the  muse — 
A  soul  that  spurns  the  mob,  and  virtue's  path 
pursues. 


12 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  TASSO. 
"  Donna,  crudel  fortuna  a  me  ben  vieta." 

Fate  binds  me  here — Beloved  one,  farewell! 
Yet  binds  not  all — the  fond  and  faithful  heart 
Bursts  all  restraint — and  wheresoe'er  thou  art, 

Its  best  affections  still  delight  to  dwell. 

To  deem  thee  pensive  now,  now  light  of  heart, 
Now  on  the  wave,  and  now  along  the  shore, 
Amid  earth's  stillness  deep,  or  ocean's  fitful  roar, 

Is  faithful  Fancy's  never  tiring  part. 

And  when  the  circle  of  rejoicing  friends 

Greet  thee  with  many  a  smile  and  sportive  kiss, 
Half  pleas'd,  half  envious  of  that  lavish'd  bliss, 

One  jealous  pang — swift  messenger — she  sends  : 
Home  to  the  heart  the  pain'd  affections  turn, 
And  mingled  grief  and  love  the  throbbing  bos  om  burn. 


LOVE  AND  DEATH. 

PROM  THE  LATIN  OF  ALCIATUS. 

"  Errabat  socio  Mors  juncta  Cupidine." 

Love  and  Death — odd  cronies  they — 
Met  once  on  a  summer's  day : 
Death  his  wonted  weapons  bearing, 
Little  Love  his  quiver  wearing ; 
This  to  wound,  and  that  to  slay, 
Hand  in  hand  they  took  their  way. 

Night  came  on.     The  self-same  shed 
Furnish'd  both  with  board  and  bed ; 
While,  beneath  a  wisp  of  hay, 
Heads  and  points,  their  arrows  lay. 

Ere  the  morning's  faintest  dawn, 
Each  had  girt  his  armour  on : 


136 


But,  with  too  much  haste  arrang'd, 
Luckless  chance !  their  darts  were  chang'd. 

Little  space  our  heroes  ran. 

Ere  their  archery  began. 

Love  a  whizzing  shaft  let  fly 

At  a  youth  with  beaming  eye : 

The  aim  was  true — one  shriek  he  gave. 

And  sunk  into  an  early  grave. 

Death  shot  next — he  pierc'd  the  core 

Of  a  dotard,  past  threescore  : 

The  canker'd  carle  his  crutch  threw  by — 

A  lover  now  with  am'rous  eye. 

"  Ho!"  cried  young  Love,  "here's  some  mistake 
These  darts  of  mine  sad  havoc  make." 
"And  mine,"  said  Death,  "instead  of  killing. 
Serve  but  to  set  these  bald-heads  billing." 

Reader,  oft  will  wanton  age 
Bring  to  mind  our  sportive  page  ; 
Oh!  that  youth's  untimely  fall 
Its  sadder  strain  shoull  e'er  recall! 


TO    DELIUS. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 

"jEquam  memento  rebus  inarduis." 

Though  adversity  should  harm  thee, 

Still  thy  equal  mind  maintain ; 
Though  prosperity  should  charm  thee, 
Be  not  insolently  vain : 
For  whether  clogg'd  with  sadness,  life's  brief  mo- 
ments pass  us  by. 
Or  wing'd  with  wine  and  gladness,  still,  my  Delius, 
we  must  die. 

Where  the  pine  and  poplar  blending, 

Fling  their  hospitable  shade, 
And  the  limpid  stream  descending, 

Gently  murmurs  through  the  glade, 
12* 


138 


Bring  the  wine,  and  perfume  rare,  with  the  rose's 

short-liv'd  flow'r, 
While  the  fatal  sisters  spare,  and  life  lends  a  summer 

hour. 

For  soon,  the  world  resigning, 

Thou  shalt  leave  thy  house  and  lands, 
And  the  well-piPd  treasures'  shining, 
To  thy  heir's  delighted  hands  : 
Nor  shall  fields,  dear  bought,  avail  thee,  lash'd  by 

Tiber's  yellow  wave, 
Nor  thy  noble  birth  preserve  thee,  from  the  dark  and 
narrow  grave. 

Oh !  think  not  then  'twill  matter  thee 

How  low  soe'er  thy  lot ; 
Nor  deem  that  death  would  flatter  thee, 
Though  royally  begot : 
Whether  palace,  rich  and  rare,  should  receive  thy 

ev'ry  breath 
Or  it  flit  in  open  air — it  is  all  the  same  to  death. 


139 


To  his  rule  we  all  are  destin'd, 

Whether  soon  or  late  our  turn : 
Nor  may  its  lot  be  question'd — 
That  inexorable  urn ; 
Nor  the  boat  that  wafts  us  over  to  that  undiscovered 

shore, 
From  whose  eternal  exile  we  return  again  no  more. 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  PETRARCH. 
"  La  vita  fugge,  e  non  s'arresta  un'  ora." 

Life  flits  away  without  a  moment's  rest, 

And  death  with  rapid  strides  comes  hast'ning  on ; 
The  past,  the  present,  rend  my  aching  breast, 

The  future  will  when  they  shall  both  be  gone : 
Mem'ry  and  hope,  alike,  by  turns  perplex, 

And,  truly,  did  I  not  sometimes  forbear, 
And  cease,  with  anxious  fears,  my  soul  to  vex, 

Such  thoughts,  long  since,  had  pierc'd  it  through 
with  care. 
I  look  before  me — and  my  aching  heart 

Sometimes  a  single  cheering  ray  descries, 


141 


>Tis  vain — for  instant  on  some  other  part, 

Fierce  winds  to  whelm  my  wave-worn  bark  arise  ; 
And  when  the  port  is  gain'd,  and  Fortune  won, 
Wearied  and  wreck' d,  each  raj  that  gilds  her  throne 
is  gone. 


THE    PLEASURES    OF    A    COUNTRY    LIFE. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 

"  Beatus  ille  qui  procul  negotiis." 

How  blest  is  he  who,  free  from  care, 
As  once,  'tis  said,  ev'n  mortals  were, 
Unknown  to  brokers,  bonds  or  bills, 
His  own  paternal  acres  tills. 
No  midnight  storm  along  the  deep, 
Nor  brazen  trump  to  break  his  sleep  ; 
Far  from  the  Forum's  pompous  prate, 
And  thresholds  of  the  lordly  great, 
The  wanton  vine  'tis  his  to  wed, 
To  poplar  trim  with  lofty  head, 
And,  pruning  off  each  worthless  shoot, 
Engraft  the  slip  from  choicer  root. 


143 

Sometimes,  where  yonder  vale  descends, 
His  lowing  herds,  at  ease,  he  tends — 
Shears  now  his  sheep  with  tott'ring  feet — 
Now  stores  the  hive's  delicious  sweet — 
And  now,  when  autumn  smiling  round, 
Erects  his  head  with  fruitage  crown'd, 
Plucks  with  delight  the  melting  pear, 
Or  purple  grape  of  flavour  rare  ; — 
What  thanks  and  offerings  then  recall 
His  care,  who  gives  and  guards  them  all ! 

Sometimes,  where  streams  are  gliding  by. 
Stretch'd  on  the  grass  he  loves  to  lie, 
Beneath  some  old  and  spreading  oak, 
Where  rooks  reside,  and  ravens  croak, 
While  crystal  fountains  murmur  round, 
And  lull  his  senses  with  their  sound. 
But  when  the  raging  winter  god 
Has  sent  his  snows  and  storms  abroad, 
He  scours  the  country  round  and  round, 
To  rouse  the  boar  with  horse  and  hound : 
With  subtle  art,  his  traps  and  nets, 
To  catch  the  tender  thrush  he  sets ; 


144 

Lays  for  the  crane  some  stouter  snare, 
Or  takes,  delicious  treat !   the  hare. 
'Mid  sports  like  these,  unknown  to  ill, 
What  love  can  cross !  what  cares  can  kill ! 

But  happiest  then,  if,  while  he  roam, 
His  wife  and  children  dear,  at  home — 
(A  modest  matron  she,  and  fair, 
Despite  alike  of  sun  and  air) — 
The  swelling  udder  duly  drain, 
And  close  the  shelt'ring  fold  again — 
Pile  high  with  season'd  wood  the  fire, 
To  warm  and  dry  their  wearied  sire — 
Then,  fill'd  one  small,  but  gen'rous  cup, 
The  unbought  banquet  quick  serve  up. 

Such  fare  be  mine — I  ask  no  more — 
No  shell-fish  from  the  Lucrine  shore, 
No  turbot  rare,  nor,  driv'n  from  far, 
By  eastern  winds,  the  costly  char. 
Oh !  not  the  fowl  from  Afric  shore, 
Nor  grouse  from  Asiatic  moor, 
Were  half  such  luxury  to  me, 
As  olives  pluck' d  from  mine  own  tree — 


145 

A  dish  of  dock  that  grows  in  fallows — 
A  dainty  mess  of  wholesome  mallows — 
A  joint,  on  high  and  holy  days, 
Of  roasted  lamb,  my  board  to  grace — 
And,  now  and  then,  a  rescu'd  kid, 
Which  rav'ning  wolf  had  stol'n  and  hid. 

'Mid  feasts  like  these  to  sit,  and  see 
My  flocks  wind  homeward  o'er  the  lea ; 
The  sober  ox  returning  first, 
With  languid  neck,  and  plough  revers'd, 
And  men  and  maids — the  farm-house  swarm- 
Around  the  hearth-stone  gather'd  warm — 
"  What  life  so  blest !"  cried  wealthy  B  .  .  .  . 
"  I'm  done  with  stocks.     A  farm  for  me !" 
Cash  loaned  at  jive  call'd  in,  he  went, 
And — put  it  out  at  six  per  cent. ! 


13 


WHY    WISH    FOR    LIFE? 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  METASTASIS 
"  Perch6  bramar  la  vita." 

Why  wish  for  life  ?  has  this  vain  world 
One  source  of  pure  delight, 

Whose  ev'ry  fortune  has  its  pang, 
And  ev'ry  age  its  blight  ? 

Trembling  in  childhood  at  a  look, 
In  youth,  with  love's  vain  fears, 

Man  walks  awhile,  the  sport  of  fate, 
Then  sinks,  oppress'd  with  years. 

'Tis  now  the  strife  to  win  that  racks 

His  inmost  soul  with  pain  ; 
And  now,  far  worse,  the  fear  to  lose 

What  cost  so  much  to  gain. 


147 

Thrones  have  their  thorns — eternal  war 

Must  gain  them,  and  must  guard ; 
And  envy  still  and  scorn  are  found 

Fair  virtue's  best  reward. 

Vain  world !  whose  dreams  and  shadows  mock, 

Whose  follies  cheat  the  eye, 
Till  age  the  base  delusion  shows, 

Just  time  enough — to  die ! 


HARMODIUS    AND    ARISTOGEITON. 
FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  CALLISTRATUS. 

E*  ftvgrou  xAaS1/  to  |/^flf  tpe^riffu. 

I'll  wreath  my  sword  with  myrtle,  as  the  brave  Har- 

modius  did, 
And  as  Aristogeiton  his  avenging  weapon  hid, 
When  they  slew  the  haughty  tyrant,  and  regain'd  our 

liberty, 
And,  breaking   down  oppression,  made  the  men  of 

Athens  free. 

Thou  art  not,  lov'd  Harmodius,  thou  art  not  surely 

dead, 
But  to  some  secluded  sanctuary  far  away  art  fled, 
With  the  swift-footed  Achilles,  unmolested  there  to  rest, 
And  to  rove  with  Diomedes  through  the  islands  of 

the  blest. 


149 


I'll  wreath  my  sword  with  myrtle,  as  Aristogeiton  did, 
And  as  the  brave  Harmodius  his  avenging  weapon  hid, 
When,  on  Minerva's  festival,  they  aim'd  the  glorious 

blow, 
And,  calling  on  fair  freedom,  laid  the  proud  Hippar- 

chus  low. 

Thy  fame,  belov'd  Harmodius,   through  ages   still 

shall  brighten, 
Nor  ever  shall  thy  glory  fade,  belov'd  Aristogeiton, 
Because  your  country's  champions  ye  nobly  dar'd 

to  be, 
And,  striking  down  the   tyrant,  made   the  men  of 

Athens  free. 


13* 


TO    FUSCUS    ARISTIUS. 

FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  HORACE. 
"  Integer  vitae  scelerisque  purus." 

The  man,  my  friend,  whose  hands  are  pure. 
Needs  not  the  shaft  of  tawny  Moor ; 
Nor,  arm'd  with  innocence  of  heart, 
Asks  he  the  how  or  venom'd  dart. 
His  way  may  lie  o'er  sandy  plains, 
'Mid  hills  where  desolation  reigns, 
By  fabled  stream,  or  haunted  grot, 
Secure  in  all,  he  needs  them  not. 

For  me,  as,  musing,  late  I  stray'd 
In  yonder  Sabine  forest's  shade, 
And,  casting  to  the  winds  all  care, 
Thought  but  of  Lalage  my  fair. 


151 


A  wolf — such  horrid  portent  roves 
Not  all  Apulia's  warlike  groves ; 
Not  such  fierce  Mauritania's  coast, 
Dry-nurse  of  monsters,  e'er  could  boast — 
Lone  as  I  was,  and  quite  unarm'd, 
Took  flight,  and  left  me  all  unharm'd. 

Place  me  henceforth  'mid  polar  fields, 

Where  earth  no  vegetation  yields — 

'Neath  cloud-wrapt  skies,  where  not  a  breeze 

Wafts  health  and  fragrance  through  the  trees — 

Or  where  the  tropic's  ceaseless  blaze 

Blasts  all  that  basks  beneath  its  rays ; 

I'll  fear  no  ill — but  think  the  while 

Of  Lalage's  bewitching  smile  ; 

Dear  to  my  heart  she  still  shall  be, 

My  sweetly-speaking  Lalage. 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  PETRARCH. 

"  I'  vo  piangendo  i  miei  passati  tempi." 

Oh  !  I  must  ever  weep  the  years  I've  spent — 

Years,  whose  whole  business  and  delight  was  love. 
When  not  an  effort  stirr'd  those  pinions  lent 

To  spurn  the  ignoble  crowd,  and  soar  above. 
Thou,  who  my  errors  and  my  crimes  hast  known. 

Great  King  of  Heav 'n,  eternal  and  unseen. 
Aid  my  frail  spirit,  wand'ring  here  alone. 

And  cleanse  it  graciously  from  ev'ry  sin. 
Grant  that  my  life,  'mid  storm  and  battle  spent, 

In  peaceful  haven  may  at  last  repose ; 
If  this  be  vain,  whate'er  its  brief  extent. 

Vouchsafe  at  least  no  ignominious  close  : 
And  oh !  in  death,  do  Thou  my  portion  be, 
For,  Lord,  Thou  know'st  my  hopes  are  all  in  Thee. 


TO    THIS    SPRING. 

AN  IDYL, 

PROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER. 

liiiftMTas  r,*iu.!>i>T»s  x<r  tuition  OI^O/tilOH. 

See,  wak'd  by  stormy  Winter's  parting  wing, 
Smiling,  'mid  flow'rs,  comes  on  the  purple  Spring, 
While  verdant  herbage  crowns  the  dusky  earth, 
And  new-leav'd  plants  are  joying  in  their  birth ; 
While  fertilizing  dews  refresh  the  ground, 
And  early  roses  bloom  and  blush  around. 

Glad,  o'er  the  hills,  the  shepherd's  pipe  we  hear, 
Where  snow-white  flocks  in  frolic  mirth  career — 
Cheerly  his  ocean-path  the  seaman  hails, 
While  fav'ring  zephyrs  fill  his  swelling  sails — 


154 


The  Bacchants  now,  with  clust'ring  ivy  crown'd, 
Invoke  the  genial  god  with  jocund  sound — 
Their  cells  of  purest  wax,  prepar'd  with  skill, 
The  careful  bees  with  dripping  nectar  fill — 
Now  wake  the  feather' d  tribes  their  tuneful  notes ; — 
The  queen-like  swan,  as  down  the  stream  she  floats; 
The  halcyon,  hunter  of  old  Ocean's  coves ; 
The  swallow,  twitt'ring  from  the  roof  he  loves ; 
And,  Philomela,  thou,  enchantress  of  the  groves ! 

And  say,  while  leaves,  and  buds,  and  flow'rs  rejoice, 
And  teeming  earth  lifts  up  her  glorious  voice ; 
While  shepherds  warble  their  delighted  lay, 
And  well-fleec'd  flocks  their  sportive  gambols  play ; 
While  seamen  shout,  and  Bacchants,  joyous,  throng, 
And  bees  their  labour  ply,  and  birds  their  song — 
Shall  I  no  strain  to  earth's  glad  chorus  bring  ? 
Shame  to   the   Son  of  Song,   that  hails   not  thee, 
O  Spring! 


the  END. 


u 


I 


